


our rage doesn't run pure

by ElasticElla



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Masochism, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't the first time Karen's held a gun, and it wouldn't be the first time she's fired one either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our rage doesn't run pure

“I don’t know, do you really think this is the first time I’ve shot someone?”

Wesley _laughs_ , leaning back in his chair. “I know it isn’t, so you can drop the shaky handed pretense.” 

Karen’s stomach drops, and the cold metal no longer feels like a comfort. “How…?” 

“You know, the first time we met in person, I was worried you might recognize my voice. You didn’t, but it was just the first… risky choice I’ve made regarding you.” 

“No,” Karen whispers, the pieces of her past life falling into place.

He leans forward, with a conspiring smile and silky words, “You didn’t really think some good samaritan was going to pay you that much for the files did you? My employer wanted you killed after, really you owe me a life debt.” 

He says it playfully, like this was part of the plan, and she keeps the gun aimed at his chest. He isn’t nervous, not even a little bit, and hot anger runs through her. 

“Pretty sure that no longer counts after you sent someone to kill me.” 

“Still bitter about the rug? And we both know if I wanted you dead you would be.” 

A shiver rolls through her at the certainty in his voice, and her finger itches to pull. She’s killed people for less- though that was always on mission, with a plan, an end game. It was never out of spite or desire, and the thought turns her stomach.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” 

He sighs, “Melodramatics don’t suit you. But I suppose the rather incriminating file with your name on it would be one, a better reason for you perhaps is the matching one for Mr. Murdock, or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.” 

Karen can’t help the brief look of surprise, mentally reviewing every interaction she’s had with the man. It seems obvious in retrospect, and later she’ll berate herself from not putting it together faster.

“He didn’t tell you,” Wesley remarks, and Karen aims the gun up higher, at his throat. “Shut up.” 

Wesley shrugs, eyeing his watch. “I have things to do Ms. Page. You’re going to convince Urich not to write about it.” 

“Or what?”

Wesley stands, a look that could almost be described as pitying on his face. “Now you’re just trying to buy time. Keep the gun, you do live in a dangerous neighborhood.” 

He walks out without any tension, knowing she won’t shoot him. It makes her fingers twitch, and she entertains a brief fantasy of killing him. Rolling her shoulders, she walks out a few minutes later, trying to think of the best plan of attack. 

.

In the cold light of morning, she calls Ben. 

He doesn’t answer.

.

Karen takes the day off from work, she can’t remember if she told Foggy and Matt she was doing that. She must have, or perhaps they heard the news as neither have called. Thinking of Matt, the damn Daredevil, who couldn’t save him, makes her curl up on the couch tighter. If only she’d called sooner, if only she hadn’t gotten him involved, if only she went to the nursing home alone, if only… 

There’s a brisk knock on her door, and she’s up and opening it before she can think otherwise. She knows who is on the other side, and the sharp suit doesn’t disappoint. Her fists slam into his chest, over and over, tears blurring her vision. 

“You _bastard_ , you said- you fucking said-”

Wesley pulls the door closed behind him, composed as ever. “It was beyond my control.” 

Karen tugs him down by his tie, hoping she pulls just tight enough to make him choke. “Beyond your control? _No_. That’s for stupid interoffice issues. He’s _dead because of you_!” 

The words echo, hurling rightfully back at herself, and Karen crumples. He half drags her over to the nearby couch, her small fists still aiming for his nearest flesh. He doesn’t retaliate, breathing rage into her anew.

“Why, aren’t, you, doing, anything?” she asks, sharper punches coming with each pause. She catches his jaw and her knuckles become dark with both of their blood, she catches his kidney and he groans. 

He has the nerve to smirk at her, his split lip shining. “Don’t want to accidentally kill you too.” 

Karen rips open his shirt, nails clawing down his chest. Ten thin bloody streaks make him wince, make her feel better, and she makes more. Her leg slips over his, straddling his lap to get her thumb nails deeper into his clavicle before yanking down. He moans, and she does it again, dipping the nails into the open wounds. She scratches his sides next, enough force to keep it from being ticklish and making his flesh part. 

Forty new marks, and he’s breathing harder, fists clenching around nothing. His eyes are focused over her shoulder, and she likes the image. Victorious, she shifts in her seat, half admiring the slim cuts covering his torso. And then Karen realizes he has an erection. 

It’s not entirely surprising, but she hadn’t been thinking in that direction. “You’re not supposed to be enjoying this,” she says, fingers pulling on a cut until it widens, blossoming drops of blood slinking down. 

Wesley cocks an eyebrow, a pained hiss slipping through his lips. “You are.” 

She almost retorts that of course she is- she wants to hurt him, but the want catches in her throat. She _wants_ him. She wants to flay him open, pinch his pain, and make his eyes roll back. Wants to see him trembling beneath her, rocking on the edge of an orgasm and holding himself back. A dozen fantasies spring to mind that she’s never considered, that all seem so tangible, so close. She can already taste the accompanying afterglow of guilt and self-disgust, but he’s so pretty like this, so warm between her thighs. 

His fingers trace up her back like spiders, and her hips rock forward, cementing her decision.


End file.
